


Part

by Ezekiel Grayson (MordeshLibertine)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, Shadowbringers MSQ Spoilers, identity crisis, shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordeshLibertine/pseuds/Ezekiel%20Grayson
Summary: Warrior of Light Pyotyr Ilych considers the ramifications of the battle for the fate of the First, and the marks it has left upon his soul. Written for FFXIV write 2020 prompt #14. Spoilers for the Shadowbringers MSQ.
Relationships: Y'shtola Rhul & Warrior of Light
Kudos: 5





	Part

Pyotyr Ilych, Warrior of Darkness, had much to consider. The identity of the Crystal Exarch. The strange and wondrous sight of the ancient city of Amarout, and the combination of fear and of longing, and of mourning for something lost, or stolen, or forgotten, that suffused his chest when he remembered those tall spires. The last words of Hades, of Emet-Selch.

But for now, he focused on his hand, held above him, fingers splayed, as he leaned back in a chair at his kitchen table, in his quarters at the pendants. For a long moment, he held it there, staring at the back of those long, delicate, fingers as if the pattern of scrunched skin on his knuckles might unlock the secrets of creation. The night wind blowing softly through the window stirred his long purple hair about his face, but even that did not rouse him, and he continued to stare, as still as that Shoebill that sometimes perched outside his window.

He was only barely shaken from his reverie by a knock at the door.

"Come In!" he called, still looking at his hand. The door opened to admit his fellow Scion, Y'shtola Rhul, lately known as Master Matoya of the Night's Blessed.

She looked at the Duskwight Elezen splayed out on the chair before her, hand in the air, and cleared her throat delicately, "Are... you quite alright, Pyotyr?"

"Oh!" Pyotyr shook his head, as if snapped out of a dream into waking, he lowered his hand quickly, tugging his garments into places as he rose from his chair, "Y'shtola! Come in, Come in! What a pleasant surprise, I thought you were on your way back to Slitherbough!"

"I was planning to be," Y'shtola said, taking the proffered invitation and sweeping into the room, "But I decided I'd best stock up on certain reagents and research materials before I returned, and the markets won't have all of them ready until the morrow."

Pyotyr smiled, "So, one more evening in the Crystarium, and you choose to spend a part of it with me? You honor me."

Y'shtola smiled back, with a bit of a sigh, "None of that, now, Pyotyr. You're one of my dearest friends, we just spent multiple years apart from my perspective, and only days ago, I thought we might lose you forever."

Pyotyr grinned, "But I am here, and feeling better than ever. Available to brew a potion, heal a wound, slay a monster, or discuss aetheric theory with a dear friend over a cup of tea. Shall I pour you one?" He walked breezily over to the stove, where a kettle had indeed just begun to pipe, and began bustling about grabbing a pair of cups and a small tin of tea leaves from a nearby cupboard.

"Tea sounds wonderful," Y'shtola said tentatively, sitting down at one of the small but sturdy wooden chairs at the kitchen table, smoothing her skirts, "but are you sure?"

"What, sure I want tea?" Pyotyr said, without looking back, focused on packing the leaves into their tea balls, "Of course I am. We've spent too many nights at the Rising Stones poring over old tomes together over a cup for you to doubt that, haven't we?"

"No," She said with a sigh, "Are you sure you're alright? You looked rather distracted when you came in."

Pyotyr turned, now carrying two cups of steaming hot beverage on a small platter, and he smiled a small sad smile as he bought them to the kitchen table, setting one in front of Y’shtola, taking the other in his hands as he sat down beside her.

"Hm," he mused, "I suppose that is a fair question. And a hard one to answer. I feel... physically fine. Without the weight of that extra aether, I feel as light as feather. Yet, I feel more solid, more real, than I ever have before. It... sounds strange, but I feel like there is more of me."

Y'shtola took a sip of her tea, a thoughtful look on her face, "More? Yes, your aether looks repaired, but also... stronger. More solid. I suppose in some ways, you are... more."

"But," she continued, "I have a feeling that isn't all there is to it, is there?"

Pyotyr took his own sip of tea, then nodded at her, "Your instincts have always been sharp, my dear Miss Y'shtola."

He let out a long breath, and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing, "When I say I feel like there is more of me, I find myself... somewhat terrified at what that might mean."

"Terrified? You have always been one the bravest, most steadfast persons I know. I know people change, but I cannot forsee that changing about you too soon."

Pyotyr smiled softly, "You flatter me, Y'shtola. You are correct on one point. Whatever I am, as long as my wits remain mine, I will continue to be loyal to the Scions, and a defender of Eorzea as long as people of good will inhabit her land. But... I am, or thought I was, Pyotyr Ilych, Son of Vylbrand, Scholar, Scion, Alchemist, Doctor... It was all I ever aspired to be, even if the tides of war and fate have swept me up into larger things than I ever dreamed of as a Limsan street rat."

"Emet-Selch," he continued, after another sip of tea, "seemed to recognize me as someone. I'm still not sure if he wanted me to desperately be his old friend, or hated with all his might that I might be his old friend."

"The possibility of reincarnation has been considered by scholars and believed in by many societies over the years," Y'shtola said, "But most of them believe you are who you are in the present. No matter how you reincarnated, or if you reincarnated, you are still you."

"Perhaps," Pyotyr said, "But It is strange to know who else you might have been... who else you might be, when you never expected to be anyone else... and beyond that. Ardbert."

"He was a part of you," Y'shtola said, a small acknowledgement, a nod of the head.

"Yes. My shard, my counterpart, here on the First. Whoever Emet-Selch recognized, we were both parts of him. And now Ardbert is part of me. Our souls are rejoined, parts of the person who Emet-Selch used to know."

Pyotyr drained the rest of his teacup before continuing, "And now I wonder. Where does he end and I begin? Shall I find myself possessed of that bravado? Of that desperation? Shall memories and thoughts of Braden and Lamitt and Renda-Rae and Nyelbert crowd out memories of Alphinaud and Y'shtola and Thancred and Urianger and Alisaie? And what of the person Emet-Selch knew? Now that I am closer to that person, now that I have come closer to what the Ancients were, what the Ascians are... shall I find myself forgetting myself and Ardbert alike? Will I be seized with a dangerous nostalgia for a past world? Shall I find myself wandering ruins of the past in anger and lust? Emet-Selch asked me to remember, Ardbert and his comrades deserve to be remembered as the heroes they were, and I want to. I want to remember them. I want to remember them. But I want to remember ME, too. How can I make sure I still remember me, that I am still Pyotyr, when I have had so many other people thrust upon me now?"

His hands dropped to his knees, and his face dropped with them, just a bit, as if he might be trying to hide his eyes, and he fell silent again.

Y'shtola closed her eyes for a moment, sighed, then opened then. She leaned across the space between them, and placed a hand over Pyotyr's right hand, then scooped it up gently with the other, cradling it between her palms.

"I have watched your aether closely ever since we reunited," she said, "And I watched it even back on Eorzea, before the Exarch's summons took me. I know you, Pyotyr Ilych, not just as a beloved friend, but on a very elemental level. Ever since you were able to harness the light against Hades, you have been exactly as I remember from Eorzea, only more so."

"More so...?" Pyotyr raised his chin a bit, to look at her with shining eyes.

"Your pattern shines bright against the gaps, but it always has. And it has always been your pattern. Whoever you used to be, whoever you have been joined to. Your journey has tempered you in its own way. You have gained strength. You have gained comrades. You have gained wounds and healed wounds alike. But you have always shown the qualities that shine brightest in you, the compassion, the bravery, the will to fight to protect the weak. In all those ways, You are still the man I met so long ago, in the Grotto near Summerford Farms."

Pyotyr chuckled at that, "I remember it well. Your little history lesson on the Sailor's Requiem made me feel like I was back in school. Then after you helped me defeat that poor goobbue, you handed me a knife, spoke a few cryptic words, and left me standing there, mouth agape, feeling as if I had less met a person and more seen a small storm rip through my life."

Y'shtola smiled back, "See? Just as a sweet and sassy as you ever were, Pyotyr Ilych. And in my defense, I did come back for you."

Pyotyr chuckled, "And swept me up into a world I never imagined. All because I wanted to know why some of my old shipmates had been kidnapped. Despite such strange beginnings, I can't say I would have traded any of it for the world. Thank you, my nysterious Cultured Conjurer, for noticing such an unlikely adventurer."

Y'shtola chuckled herself at that, and squeezed Pyotyr's hand, "Unlikely or no, I can't imagine anything up until now would have gone as well as it has without you. Whatever else happens, you are still a Scion. We will be besides you, and we will always remind you of who you are: Our hero, our exemplar, and most importantly, our trusted and beloved friend."

Pyotyr now smiled, a true, unguarded grin, as he squeezed Y'shtola's hand back in return, "Alright. You've convinced me. I'll put aside my worries, at least for now. But... I think it will be a few hours before I feel like going to bed. Would you perhaps, stay with me, My dear Miss Y'shtola? We can talk of old times, or you can tell me stories of your time here in the First."

"I can think of no better way to pass the time, my dear old friend," Y'shtola answered back.

And so they sat, the two friends, the two veterans, speaking of all the adventures they had been a part of, past and present, and even into the future, long into the night.


End file.
